Interwoven
by aquavis
Summary: Canada: a history. In case you wanted to learn history the intense Hetalia way. Told from everyone but Canada's perspective, just to give you an outsiders view on what we all know and love to be Canada. Chapter Three: The Red River Rebellion.
1. Prologue: New France

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

A/N: I've got some explaining to do. Right now, I'm in a Canadian History class in university, thus this idea. However, it's mostly from confederation to today, so if you're alarmed that I skipped something like exploration of the west or something, don't worry. It's not really part of my story. Anywhoo, I hope you enjoy this. At the bottom, there will be historical notes if you're interested. Oh, and parts will be updated as I progress through the course. ;D.

* * *

**1537**.

Francis shifted in his cabin, throwing another log into the oven, the crackle of the flames pleasant to his ears.

It was cold; a bitter cold here in this new world. All the sun that shone over his shores of France could not ease the wind creeping through the walls.

He felt as if he were the only man left in the world, alone in the vast unknown.

This land was so endless, extending far beyond anything he knew. He was forever surrounded by pine forests, reaching above him like great green hands, gently covering the soft navy sky. Snow, crisp and white piled up his cabin walls, so deep that he sunk to his knees when he stepped outside.

This world was nothing like France.

In truth, he was more homesick than anything.

He missed his people and their voices.

No heat could ever rid that feeling from his bones.

As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door.

Francis turned to the entrance, slightly alarmed.

"Who could that be?" He muttered as he headed towards the sound. A fierce storm was raging outside. Whoever was outside had battled it for the last while as they travelled from the nearest colony.

The knocking continued. One. Two. Three more times. The same rhythm.

Francis cautiously opened the door, wind brushing past him in a great burst of power.

A small child looked back at him. He blinked, fanning his long lashes, his mouth slightly open as if lacking the words to speak.

"Mon Dieu! Come in, child!" Francis cried, throwing the door wide open.

"…Merci, Mister Francis Bonnefoy." The boy stepped in, allowing Francis to close the door.

Francis flinched, his back to the wall. "How do you know my name, little one?"

The boy, looking around, whispered, "I was looking for you."

"Looking for me? Whatever for? Where are your parents?"

As the child removed his cloak and hat, Francis noted his peculiarities.

The child was not of the nearby Iroquois. He did not have rich copper skin, or thick raven hair. He was as pale as the moon, with long golden locks to his shoulders and piercing indigo eyes.

But it was the feeling Francis suddenly knew that this child was like him.

This was the New World.

New France.

Kanata.

"Tell me, child, what is your name?" He asked tentatively. He watched the boy sit upon the chest by the fire, swinging his feet.

"I don't have a name yet."

Francis moved closer with a twinkle in his eye; inside, he was cheering that he was the first to discover the boy. "Then I shall name you Matthew, and you shall be mine." Francis smiled, ruffling the boy's blonde hair. "Now, Matthew. You must be cold from your wandering. Why were you looking for me?"

Francis wrapped the boy up in a blanket from his bed and sat down beside him.

"They told me to." Matthew confessed as he placed his hands on his lap. "The spirits, I mean. They said I had to find you."

Francis laughed. "That's alright, my petite enfant."

Matthew shuffled on the seat, staring down at his interlaced fingers. "Will you leave now that you've found me?" The boy asked suddenly. "…Everyone leaves me in the end."

"Mon cher," Francis said quietly, placing an arm around the child's shoulders. "I promise I won't ever leave you."

Matthew leaned in, nuzzling his head on Francis' chest.

"They all say that too."

* * *

So, the only thing I can really say is that France wasn't the first to meet Canada. Historically, the Icelandics/Norse had already made their visits and then left after meeting hostile indigenous groups. The Portuguese were also there, or so Wikipedia tells me. Also, _Kanata_ means village. Hooray!

ANYWHOO, please review. I'd appreciate it. : ).


	2. Chapter One: Before the Confederation

A/N: Hallo hallo! So, thanks for reading, by the way. I just wanted to say that this chapter is not yet on confederation, so I apologize if my facts seem a bit off. .

* * *

**1760**.

"Papa…" Matthew called, tugging on Francis' jacket. "Papa… please, wake up…!"

The war was over now.

"I don't have time for this." Said a man observing a few feet away. He wore a bright cardinal red coat. Swinging his rifle onto his back, he moved closer. "Matthew, come with me." He brought his left arm swinging down like a sword.

Matthew was pulled up by the arm, letting go of the fabric clutched in his hands.

"Non!" He cried, struggling with the man now restraining him. "Papa! Help me!"

"Silence, boy!" The man said, his words sharp and precise. "You're now property of Arthur Kirkland, the great British Empire."

Matthew was captured prey. Like a rabbit in a snare, he thrashed within the man's forceful grip, letting out a cry of anguish at his fleeting freedom.

Arthur pulled Matthew away from Francis. "Matthew," He snarled. "Didn't the French teach you any manners?"

Francis said nothing.

Arthur let out a small laugh. "Oh, that's right. The French don't have manners. They have cowards."

Francis opened his mouth to speak. It was a dry well, void of words. Instead, he lay still behind them. His uniform was stained in crimson patches of blood and black gunpowder. He blinked his eyes slowly, tears dripping down from his face and into the mud.

He could hear Matthew screaming, "Papa! You promised!"

Helplessly, he watched Matthew go.

* * *

**1777**.

"Mattie?"

He moved like a shadow in the night, sneaking through the front door like a ghost.

The house was so quiet. So empty and unchanged. It felt as if years had past since he was last here, like time had marched by, undaunted by wars, forgetting this little house along the St. Lawrence River.

It was here Alfred met Matthew.

At the time, Matthew had recently been signed away by the French colonial empire. For a few months, he would sit outside under the maple leaves, mumbling quietly. When Alfred would approach to play a game with his brother, Matthew would shake his head and hide his head in his hands. It was only later that Alfred would realize that Matthew only spoke French and couldn't understand his English.

Alfred felt very sorry for him.

Arthur had allowed Matthew to speak French, even if he was now a subject of the British Empire. "To keep some of his heritage," Arthur reasoned.

Perhaps it just didn't feel right to eliminate a whole side to the boy.

But this is where it happened, where Matthew first learned English and finally spoke to Alfred, "Would you like to play a game with me?"

Alfred smiled. Time had flown by so quickly that he had forgotten how long ago he had last seen Matthew.

He hoped that Matthew had not forgotten.

"Hey Mattie." Alfred called quietly. He creped up stairs, the floorboards creaking in his wake. "It's me, Alfred."

"I know." Came a voice. "You and Arthur are fighting."

"Yeah." Alfred swung the first door open.

It was empty.

"It won't stop, will it?"

Alfred crossed over to the next room.

Also empty.

"Eventually." Alfred said. He could feel his frustration beginning to seep through his words. "…Matthew, you can still be free if you try."

"I don't want to. Arthur treats me well." Matthew replied quietly.

Alfred gritted his teeth, his words now seething and scathing. "Arthur is a tyrant!"

Again, Matthew spoke, his voice gently above a whisper. "Arthur is my family."

The last door.

Alfred jiggled the handle.

Locked.

Alfred leaned against the door his hand against the wood. "Mattie, open the door."

Silence.

"Mattie, please, open up."

Finally, "No."

Alfred frowned. He wasn't expecting this sort of reaction. The colonies deserved to be free. Why Matthew didn't want this was strange beyond reason. What had Arthur done to scare this boy into fear of revolution?

Alfred picked his next words carefully. He didn't want to make himself out to be the bad man here. "…I just needed to let you know that whatever happens, we'll still be brothers, okay?" After a brief pause, he continued. "I wish we wouldn't have to fight. If you just joined me…"

Quickly, Matthew countered, "I'm not doing that, Alfred."

There was silence.

"Please, this is our chance for freedom! For glory! For ourselves!"

"Go away, Alfred! I told you, I won't!"

"Don't you see, Matthew? Arthur has turned us into enemies." Now Alfred was begging. "This is our chance. We could be one! I wouldn't ever have to leave you!"

Matthew opened the door, his ghostly white face peering back at his brother's.

"I'm saying no, Alfred."

**

* * *

**

1813.

"Burn it down boys," He shouted, "Don't be sloppy!"

In front of him a great inferno raged, sending billowing grey smoke into the black night sky. It ate away the wood of the building like a carnivorous monster. He stood, his back silhouetted by the gold of the flames, smiling.

This must be what it feels like, he thought. What justice feels like.

"Alfred!"

He spun around.

A man was running towards him.

Matthew.

"What are you doing?" He screamed, obviously carrying pain on the left side of his chest.

"Are you enjoying the show, Mattie?" Alfred asked, giving way to devilish grin. He gestured to the burning building behind him: the legislative assembly now in a roar of crackling wood and ember.

A display of shock and terror crossed Matthew's face. He touched his chest, his eyes slowly watering. "B-But… Alfred…"

"Lesson one, little Mattie," Alfred sharply replied, "No one can help you but you."

**

* * *

**

**1814**.

Matthew frowned.

"You're fighting for Britain." Arthur said, resting a hand upon Matthew's shoulder. "You're fighting for York. Make them proud."

Matthew looked up, his gaze meeting the sandstone walls of the building. He held a single match between his fingers. Contemplating.

Arthur's hand instinctively clamped down tighter. The boy's heart was throbbing against his chest. "Matthew, this is an order. Burn. It. Down."

Matthew turned to the crowd, slowly moving from face to face. They all peered back at him, lips set in coy smirks and crossed arms: expecting. Once again, he faced the wall of the building.

To the roar of cheering soldiers, Matthew struck the match.

"I'm sorry." He said as he tossed it into the White House.

* * *

Hokay, so notes!

First, Alfred only goes kinda crazy after the second peice because America was pretty much not okay with the fact that there were still British colonies in North America. After the American Revolution, America didn't like the British Empire, which happened to include the Canadas. AND NOW YOU KNOW.

Second, I cut this up into 4 sections:

1. The **Battle of the Plains of Abraham **- which dealt with the French Colonial Empire trying to beat (though losing) the British Empire over New France. This war was won by the British Empire, which led to the signing of the Treaty of Paris, which gave the British Empire control over New France. I got kind of lazy, and decided that Arthur should just take Matthew and then do the paperwork later.

2. This is just a general time frame, nothing too special is going on with Matthew. However, below the border, the **American Revolution **is happening, and essentially Britain was against the American colonies who wanted to become independent. Also, Matthew was a British colony. This was uncool with Americans.

3. Holy shit man, now we're into the **Battle of York/War of 1812**. I apologize if some of this is wrong. Really, I'm just gleaming what Wikipedia has taught me. So feel free to correct me. : ). Now, like I just mentioned, Upper/Lower Canada was British as hell. They were like, 'We're a British colony, bitches!' America, after just coming out of their war for independence victorious, still harboured some bad feelings for the British. It also didn't help that Americans kind of wanted that land that Upper/Lower Canada was sitting on because British supply lines were around there. So yeah, they went to York and burned down the legislative assembly there, and they were like, 'FUCK YOUR SHIT'.

4. And lastly, the **Burning of Washington/War of 1812**. Technically, we were still part of the British Empire. Remember how the Americans burnt York? The British were like, 'NOT COOL MAN' and then burnt down the White House for retribution.

NEXT TIME: PRE-CONFEDERATION. WHY DID IT HAPPEN? AND... ACTUAL THE CONFEDERATION.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter Two: The Dominion of Canada

**A/N: So, one, sorry that my notes for this chapter are really long. Two, thank-you for still reading! And three, WE ARE NOW IN MY KNOWLEDGABLE AREA. You can expect a lot more from me now that I know all about this stuff. So, anywhoo, enough of my rambling, ENJOY CHAPTER 3!**

**1864.**

"Neutrality; clearly, of course."

A small silence.

"I know you better than that." He replied, his arms crossed angrily. "There's something in it for you, I know there is."

Arthur sipped his tea, ivy green eyes peering at his guest across the table from the ridge of his teacup. "Why do I need to be involved in your affairs?"

"Look, this isn't some game!" Alfred stood up, slamming his palms down firmly against the table. His hands shook fervently, trembling through the wood. "It's war! You can't be neutral if you're interfering!"

"Alfred, sit down." Arthur said, teacup in hand. "You're being irrational."

"No." Alfred replied.

"Sit down, Alfred!" Arthur said louder.

"I said no!" Alfred shouted, pushing objects on the table onto the floor. Tea trickled out from the teapot, amber liquid pooling at their feet. "My lands are being ripped apart and you're taking sides!"

Arthur placed his cup upon its saucer, the slight clink of porcelain ringing through the heavy air. "You are a country now, not a colony! These are **your** matters, not mine!"

Alfred's shoulders were shaking now, his blue eyes narrowed underneath his messy blonde hair. "All of America is at war! Doesn't that matter to you?"

"You tried to invade British North American territory based on your anger towards me! I have no sympathy for a country that makes an enemy out of a colony of the Crown!"

Alfred went quiet, his hands slowly curling into fists. "…You think that you're better than me, Arthur?"

"I never said that."

"Of course you didn't say that!" Alfred mocked. "You're a fucking god damn bastard! All you care about is what your colonies can give to you! Because, really, you're the important one here, isn't that right?" He pounded his fists to the table. "Where is he, Arthur? Where the hell is he?"

"Alfred! Listen to me!" Arthur now cried, standing up from his seat. "Leave Matthew alone! You're in the midst of a civil war! He has nothing to do with this!"

Alfred ignored him and continued to speak, growing louder and louder with each word. "He belongs to me more than he'd ever belong to you!" He looked around wildly; in his eyes, a glint of malice twinkling like a star. "I should have taken Matthew when I had the chance!"

Alfred ran to the door, pulling it open. It slammed against the wall.

He stopped.

There was silence.

Facing him was Matthew.

Alfred grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "Listen, Mattie… please." He said as if speaking to a child, desperately trying to engrain the words into Matthew's mind. "Join me. You have to, please!"

"Arthur..." Matthew called, pleadingly, rustling under Alfred's grasp. "Please..."

"Alfred! Stop this!" Arthur cried, lunging towards Alfred.

Now Alfred was shaking his brother. "Join me! We'll be so great! It'll be one great North American nation!"

"A-American nation?" Matthew questioned, slowly bringing his gaze to his brother's face. Like clockwork, his face became more animated, ticking away whatever patience was left inside of him. He narrowed his eyes. "…I will **never** join you."

Arthur stopped in his tracks.

Alfred hardly noticed. "I'll make you, Mattie! I will!"

"Stop, Alfred."

"Mattie, we're so close! Don't you see? Arthur is keeping us apart!"

"**I said STOP**!" Matthew screamed as he pushed Alfred away.

Alfred stumbled backwards. Arthur looked on in disbelief.

"You'll be mine someday!" Alfred shrieked back. He made a dash for Matthew once more.

Arthur quickly intervened, forcing Alfred into the wall. One of the paintings on the wall fell to the ground, the frame splintering into tiny pieces. "Leave." Arthur said firmly.

"See, you always gotta be better than me, Arthur." Alfred shrugged it off, hastily prying Arthur's fingers from his collar. "You know nothing about this land."

"I said leave." Arthur reiterated.

He glared as he watched the American saunter to the door. Alfred's voice rang through the lobby. "Next time, Arthur won't be there to save you, Matthew!"

And with a slam, Alfred was gone.

Arthur turned, looking back for his colony.

Matthew sat on the ground, holding the painting in his hands. The pieces of the frame lay on the floor, now rearranged awkwardly into the shape of the canvas.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." Matthew muttered, fumbling with one of the finer pieces. He had returned to his quiet self, avoiding eye contact as he fidgeted with one of the wooden pieces. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Arthur knelt down, staring at the young man in front of him. "You have nothing to be sorry about." He reached out, placing a hand on Matthew's shoulder. He could feel the tense muscles through the thin cotton shirt. "He's going through some tough times now."

Matthew looked up, staring intently. In his eyes blazed a fire Arthur had not seen before. "I have to do something before he does."

Arthur could feel the tension winding inside of the boy. The fear. The determination.

"I understand." Arthur said.

* * *

**1867**.

"We do ordain, declare, and command that on and after the First day of July, One Thousand Eight Hundred and Sixty-seven, the Provinces of Canada, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick, shall form and be One Dominion, under the name of Canada."

Arthur stood up, shaking Matthew's hand with a smile beaming ear to ear. "Congratulations, Matthew. Or should I say, The Dominion of Canada?" He let out a sheepish laugh, pulling Matthew to his feet. "I'm very proud of you, m'boy."

"Thank-you, Arthur." Matthew said very politely, grinning like mad. He shook Arthur's hand with enthusiasm. "I'm going to work very hard to make this the best nation it can be! I'm going to build a railroad, and settle the west, and modernize and… and…!"

"Now, now, Dominion of Canada… no need to get ahead of yourself." Arthur said, still smiling. "What's your first order of business?"

Matthew laughed. "How about a beer on me?"

"For a new nation," Arthur replied jovially, "That sounds like a pretty good plan."

**July 1****st**. **1867.**

Arthur could not have believed that he had forgotten.

Matthew was not smiling. Instead, he stood up from the bench and moved towards the dock, his face sombre and apologetic. He was not happy.

A woman stood there already, pulling Matthew into a tight embrace as he walked into her open arms. The man next to her stood awkwardly on his heels, almost dazed as he stared at the ground.

Arthur watched from a distance.

Matthew was speaking to Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.

Ross and Heloise, respectively: first, children of Scotland and France; later, colonies of the British Empire; now, provinces of Canada.

How could he forget that this would happen? This should have been the first thing Matthew heard when he became a nation. How stupid of himself. He frowned, crossing his arms.

Heloise let go, and stood back, trying to put on a smile.

"Congratulations, Mattie." Ross exclaimed, looking Matthew straight in the eye, his lips curving into a lopsided grin as he extended his hand. He laughed, almost nervously.

"Thank-you." Matthew answered, heartily shaking hands with the man. "And thank-you for being here."

"We couldn't just let you become a nation without seeing you off." Ross said, tipping his cap. It revealed his unruly red hair. "Who knows? One day, you might be a great country because'a us."

A flicker of a smile crossed Matthew's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. "What will happen now, to the both of you?" He asked sadly. "I-is it true? Is it true what Arthur said?"

Arthur flinched.

Heloise bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Matthew."

Matthew let out a nervous laugh. "No. No. You must be joking. We're a family now. You… you can't!"

"Matthew… we can't stay." The tone in the man's voice was soft and empty.

"But, w-where… where are you going?" Matthew stumbled out, his shoulders drooping as he started to cry. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry! I'll work harder, I swear! Just please stay with me! Y-you're part of me! You can't leave...!"

Heloise stepped forward, cupping Matthew's face in her hands. She wiped away a tear from his cheek. "We'll always be with you."

"Always." Ross added quietly. "We're your provinces. We need you as much as you need us."

"B-but… but…" Matthew sobbed.

Heloise slowly let go of Matthew.

Ross placed a hand upon Matthew's shoulder. "You're a strong one, remember?" Ross said. "Stand tall and proud, Matthew. You'll be a great nation someday. I know it."

Matthew embraced Ross.

"Goodbye." They both said, holding back more tears as they held each other close.

Then, letting go, Matthew turned to Heloise.

"Please Matthew," She said gently, "…don't forget them."

Arthur subconsciously stepped closer, straining to hear what Matthew mumbled back. He couldn't make it out.

Heloise kissed Matthew's cheeks. "Vive le Dominion du Canada." She declared, her eyes red with tears.

"Long live Nova Scotia and New Brunswick." Matthew answered.

The two former colonies smiled and joined hands as they moved past Arthur, reassuringly calming themselves down like they had practiced many times over.

Arthur had seen this happen many times before, but somehow... this time was different.

They were ghosts of a different kind now, their presence flickering in and out like the ebb of the Atlantic tide. It was as if nature was waiting expectantly for them, welcoming them with the comfort of the waves upon the rocks. Even the seagulls had hushed their squawking, and took to perching upon the poles of the wharf, observing such a sacred thing with respect. As Heloise and Ross glided gracefully along the dock, the seagulls cried, echoing over the ocean. They were mourning too, Arthur thought.

As the two paused at the end of the dock, only Arthur and Matthew watched on, both unsettled by the calmness in the air.

The birds had stopped, and the gentle sound of the tide filled the air.

Ross and Heloise went softly, disappearing into a creeping fog that snuck over the ocean like a whisper.

No battles or wars. No falls from grace.

Only the ocean and sky that belonged to a boy inside the shell of a nation.

* * *

NOTES (since FF was all like, WHOOPS I LOST ALL OF YOUR NOTES, I'm just going to mostly copy and paste my own notes from my history class):

**Pre-confederation**: America was going through the Civil War. Britain was like, 'I'M NEUTRAL'. And then they helped to build a ship (the CSS Alabama) for the confederates. Union America was like, 'NOT COOL YOU'RE PICKIN' SIDES'. So, they were like, 'maybe we should waltz up to British North America and take it over, since it IS called **BRITISH** North America. That'll teach them a lesson! LOLOLOL' (one of which resulted in a minor invasion at St. Alban's). Also, they had manifest destiny, which was not cool.

This scared B.N.A (British North America), as there was this big gap of land between British Columbia and The Canadas. So, really the only way to solve it was to BECOME A NATION. (There were other reasons too, like wanting to modernize and expand, political deadlock, and the fact that keeping up with the colonies was expensive to Britain, though I didn't really mention these).

I apologize, I didn't want to talk about John A. Macdonald, nor the Charlotte Town/Quebec conferences. Just, these conferences debated the merits of confederation, and John A. Macdonald was there. Ahaha.

More information on Britain's role, just in general (via my history class notes): This might have been the end of the tension between the parties and Britain, but in 1864, the South had planned to attack the North via Canada. One of these attacks happened at **St. Alban's**, Vermont on October 19th 1864. The 26 confederate sympathizers terrorized the town and then **fled to Canada** where they were arrested and then released due to a legal technicality. The Canadas had a law passed that aliens must be deported if they had done acts against a friendly foreign state. The North was not happy about this. Britain could feel the tension between these two states, and sent soldiers to British North America to protect her colonies. Since there was **no railway**, the soldiers had to travel by sled. Britain felt that the colonies needed to assume responsibility for their **own defence** and to have a **link to the Atlantic**.

**Confederation**: **New Brunswick **and **Nova Scotia **weren't really sure if they wanted to be part of confederation. The location of power would be central (AKA Ontario and Quebec), and they felt that they would lose their identities. On the other hand, joining confederation would boost their economies. In the end, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia joined because they were **allowed provincial power **(which would leave them with **control over their beliefs, identities, and local issues**), and **representation in parliment**.

To sum it up, I shall quote my history proffessor:

"**Canada**** came together internally due to different political and societal groups joining because of political and economic reasons. It was political nationalism, not cultural. Canada was not a nation, but a nation in the making**."

Anywhoo, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Three: The Red River Rebellion

**A/N: 10+ new story alerts, _and_ 10+ new favourite story alerts? Wow, thank-you you guys!**

**Now, I'm going to say this: this chapter was crazy hard for me to write. Why? I'm not even sure why. If it's any consolation, where this chapter lacks, the 2nd part of this chapter later on will be better, I swear.**

**Also, I'm really sorry. It's impossible for me to avoid OC's and I'm trying hard to limit it, but you can't really do much if you need them within a story. **

**Another also: I swear to you, I've got the next chapter mostly done, and then the next three in progress, so expect more soon to make up for my sluggishness!**

**But enough rambling. Read on, dear reader. READ ON!**

* * *

**1869**.

After the deaths of Heloise and Ross, there was Elliot.

He was the Métis boy of Rupert's Land; blue eyes like the water of the Red River, black hair like the breast of a raven, tanned skin like the soft leather of a bison hide.

"And untamed," Arthur had remarked years ago, "Full of potential but in a world of its own."

Matthew sighed. "I suppose your right," he answered. "But that'll change, won't it?"

"Perhaps."

These two voices, like a flame flickered in Elliot's head, speaking distantly, out of touch.

Elliot, at that time, not knowing English, marvelled at the men's words, moving his lips as he tried to mimic the sounds. He smiled, a giddy feeling rising inside of his chest. Another part of him grimaced and flinched. This was the start of a British takeover. His people would be assimilated into English speaking Canada and he would lose everything. He touched the cross around his neck. That wouldn't happen... would it?

He forced those thoughts back into the corner of his mind, and smiled once more.

The two men stood in front of him eyed him like one would inspect a dog. Upon Arthur's face was a look of displeasure. In truth, he was becoming a bit weary to this French conundrum that seeped its way onto British soil. Matthew looked also on, his emotions caught between pity and confusion.

"Maybe you'll beat the savage out of this one."

"...Maybe."

It was to be finalized that Rupert's Land would go to The Dominion of Canada.

But already Elliot was amidst other ideas.

A rebellion.

* * *

**August**.

When Elliot met Louis Riel, it was during his rally.

Riel spoke of the equality of French and English, the importance of Catholic values, and the fight for a voice against the Dominion of Canada. He was the leader the Métis needed now, a monument to the strength of the community. Even with the sun hanging high in the summer sky, and the mosquitoes in clouds biting away at their skin, the people listened eagerly. Elliot watched as they cheered at his feet, hailing him as a new hero.

Even Elliot was impressed.

After his speech, Elliot ran after Riel. "Monsieur Riel!" He called. "Monsieur Riel!"

Riel turned around.

"Excuse me, but your speech was very moving!" Elliot said politely, admiration seeping through his words.

A grin formed upon Riel's face. "Thank-you. I'm very glad it went over well."

"It was very good! You've inspired everyone!"

Riel snickered. "That's a mighty compliment, young man. What's your name?"

"Elliot, sir." Elliot beamed proudly.

The smile faded away. Riel eyed Elliot very carefully, surveying his face with some hint of recognition.

"Elliot, you say…" Riel asked quietly. He raised an eyebrow. "Where are your parents?"

Elliot looked down at his feet, awkwardly rocking on the balls of his heels. "I don't have any, monsieur."

"Surely you must've." There was a tone in the man's voice that suggested knowledge beyond the conversation. "A young… man such as yourself must have needed some sort of father figure to guide you…"

Elliot glanced back at Riel. "Just the local traders, I guess."

"Oh?"

"The Hudson Bay Company was always around, if that's what you mean."

Louis Riel's face dropped completely now, wrinkle lines scrunching between his eyebrows. He stared at the boy for a moment, as if examining every last possible crevice hidden behind the wide blue eyes that stared back at him. Then, suddenly, he smiled. "You're no stranger to me, Elliot. We're all family here." He laughed heartily, taking Elliot under one of his arms. "We Métis must stick together, no?"

Elliot grinned. "Of course."

**

* * *

1870**.

Throughout the winter months, Elliot travelled with Riel.

He had been there when Louis Riel became the new leader of the Métis provisional government.

He had been there when it seemed that the Dominion of Canada and the Métis could get along.

And he had been there when they rounded up English conspirators near Fort Garry.

In fact, he had helped.

**

* * *

March 4****th**.

Elliot screamed amongst the cheering of the crowd.

At his feet were pieces of skull, his boots spattered with blood.

The body of a man lay near him, arms tied behind his back, his brains pouring out of his head like a cracked egg and its yolk. He seemed to look to Elliot with his remaining eye, his bloody mouth ajar, condemning the boy.

Elliot gagged, spilling out his stomach contents onto the ground.

There was something so unnaturally wrong with this.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't be here."

Elliot jumped, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, and turned around. "Monsieur Riel!"

"Elliot, you must go home."

"Why did you kill him?" Elliot asked.

Riel placed his hands on both of the boy's shoulders. His face was brooding and serious; the sweat on his brow glistened in the afternoon sun. "You are too young to understand this. I said go home."

"No!" Elliot persisted. "Why did you kill him?"

"We had to."

"But you had a choice!"

"We're under threat, Elliot." Riel answered, spinning Elliot to face him. "We have to show the government of Canada that we're stronger than this."

"But he didn't do anything wrong! You said that we'd only capture them! You never said that you were going to kill one!"

"One day, when we are all free, you'll understand what I did."

Riel let go, and shook his head. He brushed by, walking towards his log cabin.

"But y-you've killed a man!" Elliot exclaimed, chasing after Riel. Tears formed at the corners of his eye. He held up the necklace around his neck (a cross pendant Francis had given to him when he was still young) and screamed, "Doesn't this mean anything to you?"

Riel did not turn around.

Elliot fell to his knees, still clutching his cross. The feeling of uncertainty bubbled in his stomach. Was this what he really wanted for his people? Was this death justifiable in the eyes of God?

Distraught, he began to cry.

**

* * *

May 12****th**.

"It's been formalized!" Riel said, addressing a large crowd. "The Canadian government has met our demands! We shall become the province of Manitoba!"

The crowd celebrated; a roar of applause, whistling, and cheering echoed within a small log house in the settlement.

Elliot stood, facing towards the window, fiddling with his pendant.

He had a restless feeling, like an itch buried deep under his skin.

Something was going to happen very soon.

"Are you alright, Elliot?" Someone asked.

Elliot turned around and was face to face with Louis Riel. Startled, he mumbled a reply of 'I'm alright' before giving way to a forced smile.

"We did it." Riel said joyously, oblivious to the boy's waning attention. "Be happy. We are finally glorious and free!"

Elliot looked over to the window once more. The sun was sitting above the horizon, the sky aflame with red. "I suppose you're right." He answered softly, "We are free."

**

* * *

July 14****th**.

The sun was going down now, only a sliver remained above the horizon, outlining the forests of trees with a dusky mauve.

Elliot lit the lantern outside of his house. It seemed to offer some comfort into the twilight, shaking away some of the strange feelings that hung around him.

Perhaps it was just the nerves.

Elliot laughed, opening his front door. How silly of him. What nerves? It was nothing.

Yet, it obviously wasn't. This feeling hadn't gone away in months.

Then, he decided, it was just all in his mind. He was making himself sick thinking about it.

He took one last look outside.

_There's nothing to_-

In the distance he could see a shadow of a man riding upon a horse, slowly making his way across the long grass like a ship in the water. The two moved fluidly in the fading light, without fault.

Elliot became concerned, his skin crawling in fear. "Who's out there?" He shouted. "Come about!"

"Matthew Williams." The man said, stepping off his white horse. He held its reins as he continued to move towards the house, the grass sweeping against his knees.

Matthew Williams...

Matthew. Williams.

Who…?

"… Monsieur C-Canada!" Elliot exclaimed, sighing in relief as he rushed towards the man. "I'm so sorry, I should have known!"

This was the first time since the original proposition of the Dominion that he had seen Matthew.

"Please Elliot," Matthew said, his hand halting further apologies, "It's quite alright. I shouldn't have dropped by without notice, but I digress, this is of the utmost importance."

"I understand," Elliot answered, "You are a busy nation. You mustn't have the time for things like me."

Matthew did not answer. He hung his head low, and they walked the rest of the way to the house in silence.

After Matthew had tied his horse to the railing, Elliot ushered him inside.

"Pardon my mess." Elliot mumbled as he quickly swept away some papers from the table. "Would you like some tea?" He watched Matthew look around, almost absentmindedly. Elliot was sure that he wasn't listening. His mind definitely was somewhere else. "I'm sure I could find you something in one of these cabinets."

"Elliot," Matthew said bluntly. "Do you know what will happen tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, I become a province of The Dominion of Canada." Elliot replied nonchalantly. In truth, he was more frightened than anything.

"But do you know what will happen to you yourself?"

"I'm not really sure, Monsieur Williams sir." Elliot said. He looked away. "Suppose I'll just be around."

Matthew looked down, his blond hair covering his face as he bit his lip.

"Why?" Elliot was now concerned. "Is something else going to happen tomorrow?"

"Please don't be upset with me," Matthew whispered, "I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news."

"You're not making sense."

"Elliot, this is the end." Matthew said, looking up with impenetrable sorrow. "Tomorrow, you'll be gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when the colony of Rupert's Land dissolves tomorrow…"

Elliot's mouth fell open. "No," He whispered. He stood up, his fists clenching. "That can't be right." Matthew must be joking; surly, he would find this sort of prank amusing.

"I'm so sorry, Elliot."

"No! You're lying!" Elliot screamed. "This can't be right! This can't be it!"

Matthew reached his hand to Elliot's shoulder. Elliot callously swatted it away. "Don't touch me!"

Elliot ran out the front door and ran towards the barn, mounting himself on the horse closest to him. Angry tears fell down his cheeks as he pulled on the reins, the creature whinnying loudly in response, rising up upon its two rear legs. Before he fled, he took one last look at Matthew, who now stood on the porch, framed by the lantern hanging by his face. The expression on his face was blank.

Matthew did not move.

He let them go sprinting off into the forest, becoming a dark pinpoint before disappearing completely into the night.

Elliot rode quickly, pushing Matthew... Canada... Britain... Riel... into the darkest part of his mind. He urged his horse faster, letting the force of the air wipe his tears away.

He was distraught, caught between the life of his people and his own. For them, he would die; an unsung hero, unknown to the very people he had loved. For once, just for this one moment, he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to live on, to live a life he had been denied at the crossroad of the beginning.

He stopped by the river.

"I don't want to go." He sobbed bitterly, jumping off of his horse. "He can't make me, he can't!"

He looked at his reflection in a tiny inlet.

He felt so small now. So empty. So insignificant.

Like a single star swimming in an endless sky.

Elliot sat down upon the shore, facing the river.

"You'll always be my land." He whispered as he wept once more, the tears seeping into the rock bed. "This can't be the end."

"This won't be the end."

* * *

**Notes:**

**-This was an INCREDIBLY hard chapter for me to write. If you see something wrong, don't hesitate to tell me!**

**-The North West Territories first belonged to France and then Britain, and then Britain was like, 'you want this, Canada?'.**

**-The Dominion of Canada sent out land surveyors to plot the land (since it belonged to the Hudson's Bay Company).**

**-The Métis (Half French-half First Nations)/French were mad that Canada would appoint an Anglophone to be the governor of the region.**

**-So the Métis created a provisional government, which then was eventually led by Louis Riel.**

**-Riel demanded reasonable things like representation and equal French status to the Dominion of Canada.**

**-He also had political prisoners (Essentially Canadian resistors), whom some escaped.**

**-Later on, he caught some of these prisoners near Fort Garry, especially Thomas Scott (the guy that was executed). He criticized the Métis government and then Louis Riel killed him to show Canada that the Métis would not back down.**

**-English Canada was horrified at this.**

**-Macdonald (the Prime Minister at the time) and George Etienne Cartier then negotiated with the Métis, and tada, The Manitoba Act of 1870, which included the creation of the province of Manitoba as well as giving rights to be taught in French and be catholic, and land claims to the Métis.**

**-However, English Canada was still kind of pissed, so then the Woseley Expedition happened (I didn't write about this. You'll understand later). It was a military force headed to Manitoba to place Canadian authority and (Wikipedia tells me) to lynch Riel. Riel then fled to the states and lived in exile there.**

**Ah, thank-you for reading, and please don't forget to review! :D.**


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